


Lady in Waiting

by wintergrey



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BSDM, F/F, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-02
Updated: 2013-08-02
Packaged: 2017-12-22 04:01:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/908649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintergrey/pseuds/wintergrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Follow-up to the After Hours Job: Irene is not good at waiting, not good at uncertainty. Her Lady is better at the game than she expects.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lady in Waiting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [roane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/roane/gifts).



Key to being an excellent dominatrix was being an excellent judge of character. Irene did not beat people for a living, she saw them. She saw, she understood, she didn’t—that they knew—judge. And that made her one of the best in the world at her work. It was also purely exhausting, soul-draining effort.

It was her job to make it seem as though it was nothing at all, as though she took personal pleasure in knowing her clients so thoroughly. Sometimes, she did. Other times, she would rather not. Many of them disgusted her on principle but she kept them on rather than letting their toxicity leak unchecked into the lives around them.

It was for this reason that she had hired Molly, for relief. Secretly, she allowed herself that transgression, using her Lady’s name from time to time. It was a stolen intimacy, one for which she knew she ought to be punished, which was why she did it.

Her Lady would come and go as she liked, that was one of their agreements. The anxiety of needing to see her Lady again, and not knowing when, crawled under Irene’s skin. She berated herself for not being more clear, for not contracting a minimum number of visits, for trusting a civilian with her most intimate needs—though she could hardly hire someone in her own profession.

After their first visit, Irene could hardly bear the tension as the days passed. She paced, she smoked, she shunned her casual lovers, she ate too much.

Even the weather frustrated her. It had been wretchedly humid all week. The morning’s weak drizzle had only added to the thickness of the air. A storm loomed but refused to break. The pressure was maddening.

After an afternoon of flogging a corpulent banker as punishment for his hebephilic lusting after his step-daughter, she thought her skin would peel away from the rage and frustration cooking beneath it. She tore off her balconette brassiere and threw it across the room, removing her clothes in lieu of her skin.

“Miss Hooper is here for you,” her day girl said from the doorway. Damn her quiet feet.

“I can announce myself, thank you.” Her Lady’s voice was sweet and a little uncertain, but there was steel under it. “You can go.”

“Of course.”

Irene was sweaty, bare to the waist, still in her leather pencil skirt, suspenders, stockings, and heels. She resisted the urge to check her hair. She knew she must look a mess.

Her Lady looked like a shop girl just then. Floral blouse, denim skirt, clogs, a cheap cotton cardigan with a violet applique at the collar, raffia shoulder bag, pony tail, only a touch of chalky pink lipstick. In the past, Irene would have turned up her nose, perhaps curled her lip, if she’d had the misfortune to be seated next to her on the Tube. Not outwardly, of course. Now, her Lady took Irene’s breath away, both for her beauty and her authenticity.

“You look a mess, Irene,” her Lady said calmly. Fact, not approbation. “Go clean up. I’ll see you in our room.”

“Yes, my Lady.” Irene could just manage something like a curtsey in this skirt.

“Very, very clean.” Her Lady looked her over more carefully. “Scrub.” Then, she was gone, the soft thump of her clogs echoing down the hall toward the stairs.

Irene could have unravelled with relief on the spot. Her thighs trembled and, for a moment, she thought she would need to sit down. She pulled herself together at the last, though, and kept her head up as she followed up the stairs to her personal bathroom.

She scrubbed herself head to toe under painfully hot water that turned the world white with steam. She would not have indulged so except that she had been told to do so. It was rare that she gave in to all that loathing. To show weakness, even to herself, might have been the end of her.

She hadn’t been told to dress, only to get clean, so she arrived in the room she shared with her Lady bare, her damp hair flicking her shoulder blades. The room was unlit save for the grey afternoon light filtering past the gauzy curtains over the windows at the far end. Everything was peaceful, still, and safe.

Her Lady was waiting, studying something on the table by the windows. By the lines of her silhouette, Irene could tell that she was nude, her hair up in a twist. She was breathtaking from the slope of her shoulders to the upward tilt of her breasts to the unexpected and wrenchingly erotic curve of a cock rising from between her thighs. It was only when her Lady turned to look at her that Irene realized a noise—humiliatingly raw and needy—had escaped the clench of her throat.

“Are you clean?” Her Lady picked a bar up from the table and spun it idly, like a baton.

“Yes, my Lady.” Clean save for the sudden wet heat seeping into her public hair.

“I haven’t much time today.” Her Lady picked up several other items. Her voice was so neutral but the words might have suggested that being here was an inconvenience. Irene couldn’t see her face in the shadows and it was a little frightening not to know if her Lady was cross with her. “Something about the weather, though, said you might want to see me.”

“Yes, my Lady.” Irene’s voice came out unsteady. Her gut was in knots, her thighs ached with clenching together. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“I want you to wear these.” Her Lady approached, a pair of dark red leather thigh cuffs held out before her. Irene had bought everything in shades of red. Her Lady wore crimson lipstick today. “Put them on. Tightly.” She seemed indifferent, a little impatient, even.

“Yes, my Lady.” Irene’s hands shook as she fumbled with the buckles. She was never clumsy with a client. Now, she was all thumbs as her Lady stood watching her impassively. A silly, hopeless girl who would never amount to anything.

“Patience, Irene,” her Lady said. “Mistakes will only slow you down. One thing at a time. Breathe.”

Breathe. Irene inhaled slowly, then exhaled. One thing at a time. The red leather strap, the tongue of the buckle through the silver-rimmed eyelet... she hung one cuff around her wrist while she put the other one on high up on her thigh. When they were both on, she straightened and was faced with four more. Ankles and wrists.

“The colour is lovely on you.”

As she knelt to buckle on the ankle cuffs, her face was level with her Lady’s groin and the beautiful red-swirled cock she wore. It was one she had been uncertain about including, it was inhuman—draconian—and yet it was the one her Lady had selected. Her Lady was so full of surprises; Irene was overwhelmed with a rush of admiration.

“Do you like that?” Irene looked up into her Lady’s face, up the length of her beautiful, creamy body. “Do you like that I have a cock?”

Irene whimpered, watching her Lady’s sweet mouth shape around the words she drew out until they were purely obscene. She could only nod and lick at her dry lips. She was so close that a slip of her tongue might touch her Lady’s cock. It was hers. It twitched with the flexing of her thighs and belly, swayed as her hips shifted.

“I think it suits me.” Her Lady ran her fingers over it. Her nails were painted crimson, too. The sharp scent of the polish hit Irene’s senses at the same time as another rush of arousal. “Human ones look a bit silly with tits.” She cupped one of her own breasts, catching the nipple between thumb and forefinger. “But this, it just looks like I’m a monster, in secret. I think I am, you know,” she said, stroking her cock slowly. “Not a monster like the ones you see, human ones. But a beast. Scales and claws and wings. Do you think so?”

“Yes.” Irene forced the word out as she fumbled on the wrist cuffs. “A real one.”

“And you’re a queen.” Her Lady touched her lips, then slid two fingers between them. “In your ivory tower. Queen Irene. You don’t need a knight to rescue you. You’re too far gone for that, aren’t you? You need a dragon.”

Irene could only suck her Lady’s fingers to communicate her agreement. She clenched her hands at her sides, vaguely aware of her hips working as though she already rode that thick, red cock.

“I can be a dragon,” her Lady whispered. “No one thinks it of me but you. It’ll be our secret.” She pulled her fingers from Irene’s mouth, then smeared Irene’s saliva over her cock. “Get up. Come.” She turned away, leaving Irene to get to her feet alone.

“Yes, my Lady.” Irene followed her to the red chair, the throne, the rings and clips of her cuffs singing softly.

“Here.” Her Lady took her rightful place on the throne, a spreader bar in her hand like a sceptre. She pointed just in front of her with it. “Stand. Take this and fasten it between your ankles.”

Irene obeyed, stepping her feet shoulder-width apart to make room for the bar. When she was done, her Lady leaned forward to clip Irene’s wrists to her her thighs. Irene’s cheeks flushed when she realized how wet she was, how she must smell with no perfume or fabric to hide it, her thighs spread wide and her Lady’s face so close.

“I like you open,” her Lady said, sprawling across in her throne, one heel on the seat and the other foot on the bar between Irene’s ankles. Her cock jutted up above the dark pink of her vulva revealed by her pose. The dark red straps dug into the pale softness of her thighs where they merged with her ass; Irene wanted to lick the indentations. “You are so closed. Like a trap. Don’t think I don’t notice. Everything goes in. Nothing comes out. You’re greedy, Irene. Selfish. And they say dragons hoard treasure. I think you’re worse.”

“Yes, my Lady.” It was true. She did it to survive but she had no idea how to let go.

“Like this, though, I can take what I want from you.” Her Lady reached between her thighs and Irene held her breath, waiting to be penetrated. Nothing more came except a soft touch on her wet curls. “Or not. Or I can take a bit at a time.”

She stroked with barely enough pressure for Irene to feel it and Irene whimpered, bending her knees to try and force more contact.

“I think you should do something for me first, Irene.” Her Lady took her hand away, rubbing her thumb against her fingertips as though she disliked the wetness left there. “I think you should make me want you. If you make me want you enough, I’ll fuck you with my dragon cock. If you don’t, you’ll have to figure out a way to come for me... as you are.”

As she was, with her legs spread and her hands locked to her thighs. Irene bit her lip and nodded. “Yes, my Lady.” For all her confidence when she was with a client, she was uncertain now. “May I touch you?”

“You may do anything you think will make me want you, Irene.” Her Lady beckoned to her. “Come show me how well you know your work.”

Irene nearly fell more than once as she shuffled forward and knelt. Her stress-taut muscles wrenched and ached as she fought to keep her balance, but she survived and felt a little pleased with herself.

“You’re beautiful,” she said, kissing her Lady’s hand where it lay on the arm of the throne. “You think no one can tell, but I can.” She licked at her Lady’s fingers, nosed under her hand until she could tongue her Lady’s palm. “I don’t deserve you.”

Irene shuffled forward between her Lady’s legs, hips pressed into the velvet of the throne, and leaned in to lick lightly at one of her Lady’s nipples. It hardened under her tongue and she moaned with relief and the tiny thrill of another small victory. Her Lady didn’t scold her so she gave herself up to her seduction.

She bit and sucked her Lady’s nipples until they were dark red and ringed with pink imprints of her teeth. Every catch of her Lady’s breath was a reward richer than any gift she’d received. She could have spent a lifetime there, suckling and tonguing and listening to her Lady’s pleasure.

She wanted more, though, and licked down her Lady’s belly—taut muscle under a shroud of softness—to french kiss her navel. Her Lady caught her by the hair and forced her close, nearly cutting off her air. The pressure stifled the near-animal noises she made at being forced in such a way.

When her Lady released her, she went down on her cock, sucking and swallowing until her lips tingled from the scales and ridges and her throat ached from pushed herself down on it until she gagged, over and over again. It was bigger than a human cock by far, too big to take in at once, her jaw throbbed from being held open so long. She was desperate to have it inside her.

“Please.” Irene blinked away tears and licked her saliva-slick lips. Her cheeks and chin were wet. “Please fuck me.” When she focused, she was rewarded with the avid expression on her Lady’s beautiful face, the roses of her flushed cheeks and the perfect bow of her parted lips.

“Show me how you want it.” Her Lady reached down and pinched one of Irene’s nipples so that her back arched with pleasure.

How? Irene looked about her with such urgency that her hair lashed her shoulders. The bed was so far, the struggle to rise and shuffle there would be too much, but... should she stay here on the floor, her Lady would have to kneel, her pale knees would be marred by the hardwood. Somehow, she got up, leaning against the throne until she got one foot planted. Her body shook with the effort of standing but she made it to her feet.

“Please,” she said again. She braced an aching knee against the throne when she bent to kiss her Lady’s throat. “Please fuck me.”

Dignity was irrelevant as she managed to find a rhythm that let her walk. When she glanced back, her Lady hadn’t risen yet but she had turned to watch. Irene had never felt so helpless, so graceless and needy with no way to get what she wanted. She stopped at the bed, leaning against a post, and looked over her shoulder.

“Please, come, my Lady.” But still, her Lady didn’t move.

There was no way to climb on the bed, no way to lie that would let her Lady take her without the bar in the way. Irene leaned forward from the waist, collapsing like a puppet onto the bed, elbows bent oddly, wrists straining against her cuffs. The warm air of the room was cold between her thighs as she was spread open by her new pose.

It would be difficult to stand again without losing her balance. She was all but trapped. The realization made her writhe. “Please.” Her voice was muffled in the covers and she strained to catch the creak of the throne or the fall of her Lady’s feet. She pressed her face into the covers to stifle a sob and another plea.

“I want to hear you.” Her Lady lifted her head by the hair, turned it so that her mouth was exposed. Her Lady touched her, or Irene thought she did. The trails of sensation on her skin could have been her Lady’s gaze—she was so sensitive, every nerve yearning. The touches traced down her spine and between her ass cheeks, lingering.

“Please.” Being denied was horrifying and arousing at once, a terrible torment. Her Lady’s cock brushed the inside of one of her thighs and Irene jerked as though she’d been shocked. “Oh, God, please.” She remembered how she’d come last time, rubbing off against her Lady’s hand. “Take me. Please.”

Getting what she want split her open and set her on fire. Her Lady grabbed the links between her wrists and thighs, pulled her back and penetrated her at once. Irene heard herself, distantly, and tried to stifle her voice again. She’d have struck herself across the mouth for making so much noise but her Lady gripped her hair and pulled her head back so that her cries filled the room.

The tension down her rigid calves and thighs to her toes clawed against the floorboards, the tormented arch of her back, the fire of her pulled hair, the deep ache of her Lady’s huge cock filling her again and again were a relief she’d never known before. Irene pushed back to take her Lady in deeper, jerking at her cuffs, rocking her hips to get the pressure she craved. She couldn’t keep quiet, she stopped trying, let her body wail and beg without censorship.

One hand tangled in her hair and planted between her shoulder blades, Her Lady reached between her thighs with the other. Irene convulsed with the first touch and orgasmed until her legs failed her and she collapsed onto the bed entirely with her Lady’s weight on her. Her Lady kept moving in her, fingering her mercilessly until she went limp. Her Lady’s own climax was marked by the jerking of her hips and the moan that Irene felt against the nape of her neck.

“Do you have anything to say, Irene?” Her Lady pulled out and left her empty, bereft. “Before I go?”

Panic flooded her. “Don’t go.” She struggled to sit up somehow, aware that she was thrashing like a fish on a pier. “Please.” She finally made it onto her back and pulled herself up to sitting. “When will you be back?”

Her Lady was posed like a marble statue in the dim room, facing the windows with her arms raised as she tidied her hair. Her red cock glistened luridly with Irene’s wetness, even in the low light. “You’d like to know when I’ll return?”

“I... if you don’t mind, my Lady.” Irene bit her lip, certain that she’d crossed a line. If she’d been facing herself, she would have. “It’s simply... scheduling, and...”

Her Lady turned enough to look at Irene, her expression smooth and mild. She said nothing, simply waited. Distant lightning turned her white, lit up every curve of her slender body. When it was gone, everything was black by contrast.

“I need to know when you’ll come back.” Irene held her hands out as far as the cuffs would allow, fingers splayed. “At least... that you will.” She was trembling from somewhere deep in her belly. “Please. I didn’t think you would. I was afraid...”

The world lit up again and her Lady was standing in front of her then, the image of a Goddess of some long-lost civilization.

“I was afraid you wouldn’t come back for me,” Irene finished, as thunder rolled and the first drops of rain struck the windows with a clatter.

“I’ll be back. I’ll let you know when.”

“Before you go,” Irene breathed. “Before. Will you help me? Please.”

“You only have to ask, Irene.” Her Lady’s hands were gentle on her face, then her Lady’s lips were on hers.


End file.
